


we were never supposed to make it half this far

by Kaynara



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Secret Samol 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-22 15:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13169472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaynara/pseuds/Kaynara
Summary: A single battle is won and with it, the war.The Pelagios siblings live to see Rigour defeated.





	we were never supposed to make it half this far

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chinuplilpup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinuplilpup/gifts).



> my secret samol for 2017, for inchgahchiga on twitter!
> 
> all of the prompts were so good but sokrates being happy is irresistible as a concept for me. and so, an incredibly self-indulgent finale au, even though it takes a while to get to the happy part, because i am that person. hang in there.
> 
> many thanks to harpydora on twitter for checking this over before posting and catching the mistakes i would have let through like a fool.

There’s blood lining their throat when they come to, and more than that. Integrity’s display flashes and sputters into view in front of their eyes, displaying a cross-section of their body, revealing broken bones and fractures, internal bleeding, a severe concussion. They’re alive though, just about, with Integrity desperately trying to hold them together long enough for medical evacuation.

Sokrates focuses past the display of their own vitals with an effort, and sees that the sky is clear. No more Rigour forces. The odds had been so high against them, and they survived, somehow.

_You fell unconscious from injury late in the battle. I managed to complete our task._

They want to laugh, with relief and gratitude, but all that happens is a slight choking noise as their damaged lungs protest.

_Please, remain still. There are still some scattered forces in the city who will be able to provide medical care._

Sokrates manages to calm down, dizzy with excitement. There’s some part of them that recognises, vaguely, just how badly they’re injured, registers the reverberations that by now they’ve learned is worry in Integrity’s voice. Mostly there’s just a chant in their head, of _we won, we did it, Rigour can be beaten, I can see my family again._

Integrity hums slightly in their head, such a different cadence from the horror of Rigour. It’s satisfied, and proud, and then it curls around their body a little tighter for just a moment, careful to avoid aggravating their injuries.

When the whine of the transport reaches their ears, Sokrates lets out a small sigh.

Another chance. They won’t waste it.  


* * *

  
“Sokrates?” Cass’ voice is tinny, strained and disbelieving. “You…I thought…”

“We did it. We beat them, Cass.”

“There was so many, there’s no way you should have…”

They trail off and Sokrates chuckles.

“Maybe I’m better at this than you thought.”

Cass rolls their eyes, but they’re smiling too, small like they’re trying to hide it from anyone who could use it against them. It breaks Sokrates’ heart a little when they remember how Cass had never wanted to go into politics, and how they’ve ended up in one of the highest positions in the galaxy anyway.

“We can do this, Cass. We can beat it.”

“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves.” A pause, as they take a deep, fortifying breath. Their hands are shaking slightly, where they think they’re hidden offscreen.

“Sokrates, can you…Can you go and help Euanthe? I don’t want to order you, but after this…”

“Of course,” says Sokrates gently.

Cass sags slightly and presses a hand to their forehead. They’re so tired that their eyes look bruised above their scales, and Sokrates aches to give them a hug and feel some of the tension drain from their limbs.

After the war. After they win. Anything else is unacceptable.

No compromises.

“Don’t worry, little fin, we’ll get through this.”

They can’t help the old endearment, familiar protective feelings nestled warmly in their chest. Cass’ mouth hangs open in shock for a second in response and Sokrates starts laughing, can’t help it at the indignant surprise on their face.

“You— you haven’t called me that in more than _fifteen years_ , I’m the leader of a political faction, for fuck’s sake!”

Sokrates just laughs harder. It’s been far too long since they were able to tease each other like this.

“Get out of here, I’ve got a war to fight.”

“Of course, Apokine Cassander.” A mocking salute.

“Shut up.” They’re smiling again. “Stay safe. I love you.”

“Love you too, Cass.”  


* * *

  
Euanthe isn’t happy to see them.

“You’re not stopping this, Sokrates,” they snarl, hair in a complex braid so long it reaches past the small of their back. “The people need a decisive victory, and I will be the one to lead them there.”

The room is bustling, advisors murmuring to each other up against the walls while Euanthe paces, all coiled energy and arrogance. They’ve been stoking the old Apostolisian pride recently, wild-eyed and zealous as they make speeches to crowds about taking back lost worlds, paying lip service to the Demarchy while dressed in their old royal military uniform. The war isn’t helping, just dredging up old memories of the Golden War for all the Demarchy’s subjects and rebuilding tensions Sokrates had hoped, perhaps too optimistically, were buried for good.

“There’s a front, Rigour forces near Apostolos. We cannot let them take the homeland.”

It’s easy to think back to their childhood, to Euanthe - a sheet tied around their neck as a cape and one of their parent’s necklaces draped haphazardly over their hair as rigalia - as they yelled orders to a pretend battalion while Sokrates kicked over their meticulously arranged figurines.

“Listen, ‘Van—”

“ _Don’t you dare_ —”

“Shut up! Shut up and listen to me for once.”

They’re glaring but quiet as Sokrates takes a deep breath and then releases it slowly. Integrity chitters wordlessly in their mind, offering support. It’s still grating, and unnatural, but there’s a familiar comfort at this point too.

“I know this is important for morale. I know that! But you can’t go over there without back-up. Please. Let me help, let me bring another battalion. We’ll do it together, just like old times, hmm?”

Euanthe scowls.

“I don’t need a Divine or a traitor to help me save my people, Sokrates.”

So melodramatic. Still so bitter. Sokrates rolls their eyes, pretends it doesn’t get to them.

“C’mon, ‘Van, it’s still me.”

The room has quieted. The advisors have mostly stopped pretending to talk among themselves and are just watching, ready to seize on any sign of weakness from their leaders. Sokrates is well used to ignoring that kind of pressure, but Euanthe was forged from it, and their spine is ramrod straight as they try to react appropriately. There’s a twist to their mouth like they already regret their words but they don’t bother trying to apologise.

“If you wish to assist, I won’t stop you, as long as I retain command of the mission.”

“Sure.”

A stiff nod and Euanthe heads away to the door on the other side of the room, their long lilac robes fluttering out behind them. They reach out to brush their fingers along the pearlescent surface as they hesitate for the briefest of moments, head turning back towards Sokrates ever so slightly.

And then it passes, and they’re gone.  


* * *

  
Three weeks later, Sokrates is dragging Euanthe out of their destroyed Kratos mech, bloody and broken but still just about alive, for now.

Sokrates wants to scream at them, but Integrity has already frozen their vocal cords. They want to cry, but they’re not allowed that small relief either.

_Their injuries are less severe than yours were._

_They don’t have a fucking_ **_Divine_ ** _holding them together, Integrity, they’re not— they can’t—_

Their thoughts break down into a panicked spiral, made up of half-formed words and impressions.

Wet, choked noises are coming from Euanthe as their hands spasm into fists at their sides. Terror runs cold through Sokrates as they wish desperately that they had gone into medicine in the army like Cass did, instead of something _useless_ like weapons research.

Sokrates can feel their thoughts slowing and calming without their permission. It’s terrifying, but only in that detached, logical way where they can’t feel it fully. Their heart rate is steady, as if they’re doing nothing more strenuous than walk through a park.

Integrity runs deep, it seems.

_I need you to be calm for this if you want to save your sibling._

Sokrates nods slowly, once.

 _Integrity is not just honour and honesty, Candidate Enhydra. Integrity is found where things are whole. We can help make them whole again._  


* * *

  
A few days later, and the Rigour forces have been driven back enough that they can regroup back in the Apostolisian capital of Ireneus, get some much needed supplies from the once glittering floating city. Multiple wars have left their mark, but the view from Sokrates’ assigned wartime office is still glorious, yellow-pink sunlight glinting over the seas.

The door opens while they’re admiring the view. Integrity silences their automatic, annoyed sigh.

“Thanks to you and your Divine for your quick assistance out there,” Euanthe’s voice is stiff, and Sokrates knows that when they turn around Euanthe’s posture will be as straight as it’s ever been, formal and distancing.

“You’re kidding me with this, right?” Sokrates whirls around, too uncontrolled, too angry, only to see Euanthe much closer than they expected. There’s still bandages wrapped around half of their limbs, a reminder of the battle they faced, and their spine a slight curve that’s almost relaxed.

“I don’t approve of your actions during the Golden War, or many of them after it for that matter—”

“I was doing the right thing, unlike all of _you—_ ”

“ _—but_. I know you were just doing what you think is best for everyone. That’s all you’ve ever done, Sokrates, and I’m sorry.” Euanthe flicks their gaze away for a second, uncomfortable, before meeting Sokrates’ eyes again and smiling ever so slightly. “I’ve missed you, shrimp.”

“ _Eidolons_ , I am not that short! I’m taller than Cass!”

Euanthe suppresses a laugh behind their hand, still elegant, and pats Sokrates on the head.

“Come on, then. We’ve almost won this thing.”

It’s at that moment that Integrity lights up in Sokrates’ vision, blinking an alert in bright red text.

The Apokine is on the way to September, alone.  


* * *

  
There’s horrific vibratory feedback as Sokrates rips through the outer shell of Apokine, tearing into the neck, praying that there’s an automated shield system for holes in the shell like there are in newer models. They get inside and see a shield shimmer into place in the space behind them, but it’s weak.

Inside the cockpit, Cass is trembling as they stand over the console, and when they look up, reacting just slightly too slowly, their cheeks are wet.

“…Sokrates?” Their voice is a whisper.

“You did it, Cass. You did it, you trapped it, c’mon. Let’s go. Leave them here.”

Rigour is still screaming in its own way, a hum so loud Sokrates can feel it down to their bones. They’re in Integrity’s armor and glancing down at their metal encased arms they can see ripples pass through it as it reacts to Rigour’s presence.

Cass is still frozen, staring at them and shaking ever so slightly. Sokrates can hear Rigour beating at their mind, that constant hum draining after only a few minutes. They’ve been here for hours.

“Cass, _please_ , we need to go,” Sokrates says, stepping nearer and tugging at their arm. The heat is already rising from their proximity to the star, and there’s a deep, primal fear of being swallowed by that heat and light.

_Integrity, can you—_

_No._

Sokrates freezes, panic licking up their spine like cold fire.

 _I—_ **_please_** _, we need to get out, I won’t leave them here—_

_Euanthe is on their way in the Kratos, but without outside control Rigour will be able to disengage from the Apokine._

There’s something like a hesitation from the Divine, for the first time.

_I can integrate myself into the Apokine system and keep Rigour contained for long enough that we are both destroyed. I will not require a Candidate’s assistance._

There’s no point asking a Divine if it’s sure. It wouldn’t appreciate overt sentimentality either.

_…Thank you, Integrity._

_Live well, Sokrates._

There’s an immediate sensation of emptiness, of a gap in their mind where they’d gotten so used to Integrity sitting, and then the physical agony of the Divine withdrawing from their bones, wires and conductors retracting from every inch of their body.

Sokrates tries to suppress the screams, but their pained gasps seem to break through something in Cass, who unsteadily comes over and embraces them, arms tight enough around them to stop them dropping to the floor.

When the pain subsides, Sokrates presses a shaky hand to their neck and pulls away Integrity’s shell, a gleaming silver saddle shape. Unassuming, and all the more dangerous for it.

There’s a weakness in their limbs that feels new, but isn’t, and a slowness to their thoughts that’s the same. Life before Candidacy. They never thought they’d reach it again.

Cass lets them go, and watches silently as Sokrates presses Integrity to the control panel of the Apokine. There’s a sudden dread as they worry whether the two technologies will be compatible at all, before a multitude of wires so thin they look like hairs sprout once more and bury into the terminal. Around the siblings, Apokine creaks as it settles back into position, its blade burying an inch deeper into the ground of September.

No more real-time information overlays from Integrity, Sokrates realises. They have no idea how far away the Kratos is.

That question answers itself just as Cass looks at Sokrates quizzically, before their eyes go blank and their rigalia orients itself towards an incoming broadcast.

“Why is Euanthe—”

Their confused, questioning tone is cut off by a heavy slam as the Kratos lands inexpertly on the side of the Apokine, metal screeching as its fingers scrabble for purchase.

A moment while Euanthe attempts to line up their mech to the hole Sokrates made in the Apokine, despite their injuries slowing them and then the door is open, and Sokrates is pushing Cass through the hole, ignoring whatever they’re trying to say.

The Kratos isn’t that big, but there’s enough room for them to curl up behind Euanthe as they pilot their family away from September, mouth tight with worry and the mech’s thrusters straining against the gravity of both the planet and the sun.

The strain lessens in increments, as does Rigour’s awful hum, until it’s almost silent.

Then it’s hours later. Euanthe slows the mech, turns it back towards where September is just about still visible in front of the sun with the help of the cameras, and together the Pelagios siblings watch the planet, and Rigour, be enveloped in flame.

Sokrates laughs wildly, and pulls Cass close, feels them sag into the embrace, hand curled in Sokrates’ shirt to ground themself.

_We did it, we did it, we did it._

And then, the aftermath.  


* * *

  
“It has been my great honour to lead the Golden Branch Demarchy these past years. But it is time for this new state to bring itself out of the shadow of the Apostolisian Empire. I am stepping down, effective immediately.”

Cassander holds a hand up to the gathered crowd, and Euanthe turns away from the broadcast screen with a self-deprecating smile and a shrug.

“I’m always the heir, but never the leader, eh?” they say, trying for a joke, but Sokrates can still see the clear longing that lingers in their eyes, and there’s a stab of guilt for a second.

Their eyes are hard again when they brush their hair away from their face, today loose and flowing over their shoulders in gentle waves.

“I’ll assist in any way I can with what’s left of our Empire’s legacy.”

Sokrates snorts, and pulls them into a hug, mashes their face into Euanthe’s shoulder. Their glasses dig into their face but they ignore the discomfort for a moment.

“C’mon, ‘Van, leave that for a few more days at least.”

They chuckle and lean their chin on Sokrates’ head the way they used to, years ago.

“I’m glad that we can experience this together, even if I’m not— Even if I don’t—”

Sokrates interrupts as they pull back a few inches, looking up into their sibling’s face, trying to make things easier. “No, I get it, Euanthe. You don’t have to explain.”

A pause, but there’s no tension between them, for once. The broadcast in the background is still mumbling as political analysts hypothesise on a Demarchy without a Pelagios at the helm.

“I love you, Sokrates. Nothing will change that.”  


* * *

  
In the months that follow, Sokrates settles down, kind of, and gets back in touch with some old friends.

 _“Did you hear they’re blaming me for losing Integrity? It’s_ **_ridiculous_** _, they should be grateful, Integrity chose— …Yeah. Yeah, I_ **_know_** _, Addax. Just let me complain a bit? …Maybe Kalliope. I think those lot could use a hand. …Retire? Ha! What about you? …Exactly. Give Jace my love. And Jamil, I guess? When are you inviting me over for a housewarming party…?”_

The Demarchy sends messages, and requests for advice, and subtle pleas for them to come back to politics there.

Advice, sure. An official job? No, not with Euanthe there as well. There’s only so much influence from the old Empire that the Demarchy’s enemies will allow, so Sokrates retreats, and watches. The Demarchy is bigger than them now, and it’s working pretty well so far. That’s all they ever wanted, really.

They do some work on Kalliope, helping where they can, but mostly they let themself relax, for the first time in years, without the threat of galactic destruction hanging over their head.  


* * *

  
“Did you hear the news?” Cass asks, falling into step alongside their sibling as Sokrates meanders around their apartment, tidying up after the meal they shared. Squid ink pasta, of course, because it was Cass’ turn to cook and they didn’t know how to make much else.

“Which news?” They lean over to pick up a datapad and feel a twinge of pain in their back. Old age, they think, first with a reflexive annoyance, and then a slow creeping sort of surprise that melts into wonder.

“The Demarchy no longer has an Apokine,” Cass says wryly. “Only a Demarch, now.”

Sokrates chuckles slightly, proud.

“Took ‘em long enough, huh?”

“It’s been three years since I was Apokine. That’s barely any time at all for changes to the structure of a political system.” Sokrates is still turned away but they can hear Cass’ raised eyebrow in their voice, and they roll their own eyes in response.

“Whatever, spoilsport. How’s Counterweight?”

“Still getting better. More importantly, have you been taking fashion tips from Mako?”

“What?” Sokrates glances down at their shirt, neon green and mesh integrated to display bright pixelated fish jumping out of it every few minutes. They grin at Cass brightly. “You know me, I love the fish thing.”

“It’s tacky and it looks awful. You’re not allowed to talk to each other anymore.” Cass is trying to hold back a smile, but for the first time in forever it’s to tease, out of fun instead of wariness.

“I always look great, shut up.”

“I’m not getting into this argument again, I have work to do.”

Sokrates waves a hand towards the door and huffs a fake sigh. “Well! Leave then!” They hesitate for just a second, as they always do. “Same time next week though?”

Sighing fondly, Cass comes over, hugs Sokrates for a long moment.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, i am @sokratesnikon on twitter, where i can be found near-constantly having more feelings about the pelagios sibs


End file.
